Soulmate
by Goddess of Lies
Summary: Zevran and Fenris have a short discussion about Hawke. Post-game. Oneshot. F!Hawke x Fenris, implied Zevran x Warden. For justanotherdemonindisguise on tumblr.


_Hey, guys. :D Robin here. On tumblr, I reached 227 followers, and in celebration, asked my followers to send in pairings they'd like to see. I'd do my best to write them. Ademonindisguise asked for Zevran/Fenris. I did it as more of a friendship-type-deal. This is the product, and I'll definitely be writing these two more. 3 Review, rate, tell me what I need to do better! _

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Fenris sighed as, yet again, Zevran spoke up.

"I apologize, my friend, but I am curious." The accent was beautiful, Fenris had to admit; it seemed more alluring, somehow, than his own Tevinter drawl – he cast a speculating glance at Hawke, across the table from him, to see if she had noticed this, but she was deep in conversation with Isabela. Turning his attention back to the assassin, he tilted his head and replied.

"Yes?"

Zevran leaned conspiringly across his table, fingers steepled and golden eyes gleaming in the fire of the bar's mantle. "Pardon me for saying so, but you do not seem particularly… ah, friendly." The former Crow made air-quotations with his fingers around 'friendly', and for some reason this made Fenris scowl. "How is it you managed to gain the love of such a friendly, beautiful woman as the Champion of Kirkwall?"

Nose crinkled into a charming gesture that reminded Fenris strangely of Varric, Zevran smiled and ran his eyes down Fenris's form. The warrior felt he was looking at a male version of Isabela, and rolled his eyes, though most of his ire wasn't real. "Was it because of your rather exotic, dark and handsome appearance?"

Fenris rose a brow, turning more fully towards the other elf where before his body had been facing his heartmate. "I doubt it," he replied drily, reaching for the bottle of wine that he and his aforementioned heartmate were sharing. Hawke turned briefly from her conversation to glance softly at him, and he returned the look, unable to stop himself anymore despite the rather open crowd of people in the Orlesian bar.

Isabela noticed this and a sly smile appeared on her face before she caught Hawke's attention again, speaking animatedly now. It appeared he had become the topic of conversation, but he didn't care, only turned his attention back to Zevran distractedly.

It appeared Isabela was not the only one who had noticed the exchange. An eyebrow was lifted and a teasing smile had appeared on the other elf's mouth. "Ah-ha, I see. It is a soul-mate type of love."

Fenris, who was still uncomfortable with the word 'love' being thrown so easily around concerning his relationship with Hawke, especially since he hadn't exactly told Hawke he loved her yet, was intrigued despite himself. "Pardon me?"

Zevran waved his hands around elaborately. "Ah, you know. The Maker made you for each other. It would have happened whether you had wanted it to or not, you see?" An eyebrow rose. "Ah, no, that is not correct. It is more like… if you had ended up with anyone besides your beautiful woman, it would never have felt… right."

Fenris fiddled with the bottle, a strange feeling in his stomach. "You are saying that, had Hawke ended up with anyone else…"

"She would feel like she was missing something. Yes." Zevran eyed him and grinned. "It is obvious."

"What makes you say that?" He wished Zevran would keep his voice down – Hawke is directly across the table and is known for her excellent hearing – but he cannot bring himself to end the conversation. He was definitely intrigued, having never heard of such a thing as a 'soulmate' unless it was in one of Varric's tales, which he'd never really paid much attention to, anyway.

The former Crow and the former slave looked at each other for a long moment, and Fenris thought he saw a flash of pain in the other man's eyes before he turned towards Hawke, a smile flitting over his face, softer than Fenris had seen before.

"I know because I have felt what you feel, my friend. I have a soulmate." Zevran propped his head up on a calloused hand as he watched Hawke rather lazily, eyelids drooped halfway down over his golden irises as he apparently contemplated something. "It is apparent soon after you meet her. Everything you thought you knew about yourself changes. You find that advances on her made by other men anger you, where before, jealousy was an unnecessary and silly thing to imagine. Looks contain more than simple sight – they contain words, and emotions, feelings."

Zevran pulled a strange face here before continuing, in a slightly lower intone.

"You want to make her happy; that is all. One moment you are sleeping with every barmaid you can find and the next you are wanting to make some kind of strange marriage proposal to her." He waved his free hand in circles, though Fenris suspected the flippant hand motion was forced. Zevran's eyes move to Fenris now. "Though I am correct in assuming it is not exactly the same for you, yes?"

When Fenris's lip quirked up despite himself, Zevran continued, "It is… hard to explain." He chuckles lightly, shrugging and leaning back in the wooden chair, swirling his glass of wine around. "It is indeed _impossible_ to explain." The former Crow's eyes finally moved away from Hawke – Fenris didn't realize it'd made him tense until they do – and locked into the other elf's. "It is just something you know, is it not?"

The former slave nodded, looking away towards Hawke with new eyes. He never really believed in the Maker, but this… this is something that will perhaps make him reconsider. It is suddenly deeply important to him to think that Hawke was made _for _him; that somewhere in the mess that was his life, she had always been his one absolute. She'd have always been waiting for him, and he her, neither ever feeling right no matter how happy they were, until they met.

Zevran laughed softly, drawing Fenris's attention again, and the assassin murmured, "Soulmates. Yes, the pair of you are quite different, but, as I believe the prince of Starkhaven once said, 'The Maker works in strange ways,' I suppose." Again with the air-quotes, though they were not nearly as irritating this time.

Fenris suspected there was more to be said, but it wasn't. He wondered briefly at the flash of pain he'd seen in the other man's eyes, wondering about the other elf's emotional life enough to almost ask. Then Zevran leaned back, hands coming behind his head as he balanced his chair on two legs, and the thought was lost. The assassin leaned forward across the table suddenly, face so close to Fenris's it's alarming, the chair feet hitting the floor with a loud _bang_.

"Now. You will tell me of the scarf on your wrist, and I will give you your sword back."

A mutual look passed between them – not simple sight, but one filled with words, emotions – and Fenris believed that this would not be the last time he and Zevran talk. The thought was somehow pleasant, and so Fenris good-naturedly scowled and leaned away from the elf, demanding his sword back with a barely concealed smirk and narrowed eyes. The assassin laughs, and Fenris takes the opportunity to look at Hawke.

She is laughing, too, eyes soft as her gaze goes from Zevran to him.

That gaze was made for him.

In that moment, there was a peace he had never known.


End file.
